When Darkness Falls
by Kittey Rin
Summary: What happens when the Boy-Who-Lived can't take it anymore? What if the Wizarding World's prejudice and bigotry push him to far? Will they get exactly what they feared? Dark!Harry HPDM
1. Chapter 1: Cruel Summer (Prologue)

Summer had been hot that year. The humidity was through the roof on top of nearly triple-digit temperatures. Any sane person would be inside their homes, with the air conditioning piped up to arctic chill, sipping ice cold lemonade. Since most of the community in Surrey was sane, many lemons were sacrificed to bring about the bittersweet thirst-quenching drink that families drank together. Huddled around the tele, ice clinking against glass every so often as the tart liquid was slowly consumed, a pleasant streak of sunlight shimmering through the gauzy curtains to the living rooms of the people of England. Today, no one in their right mind would be outside.

Unfortunately, he was not in his right mind. Well, at least according to the papers.

Harry chewed on a blade of grass. He lay on a bed of dried, crisping lawn just next to the flowerbed his aunt had him tend, when there was no drought to worry about. The window above him was closed tightly against the wave of heat that swept over Privet Drive. Harry continued to swelter in the head, his white tee long since soaked through to his skin. He felt sticky. The position he had commandeered at least offered a small sliver of shade where the sun just began to settle in the west, casting the slightest shadow against the house. He lay on his side, keeping his eyes half-lidded and downcast to protect them from the bright white light. It also provided him with enough shade to keep most of his body out of the direct rays of heat. Just barely, though.

Harry's stomach growled. A rumble above him answered as his relatives shifted. Harry hear the television flick to life, a small pop he sensed more than heard. He could imagine the fizzle of the static as the bulky brown box protested waking. His head provided a litany of slurring curses and insults to the technology as Vernon or Dudley Dursley began to tweak the rabbit ear antennae, their fat, gamely hands continually nudging the metal rods just this side of perfect.

_Blasted ruddy thing, _one of the men would curse. Most likely Uncle Vernon, but lately Dudley had been picking up his rotund father's verbal habits. _These bleeding..._things_ wouldn't be need__ed if that boy hadn't been doing his _freak_ things._

_Why can't we get a new tele? _Dudley would warble, his many jowls jiggling. His cousin had collected far more chins than his father and did not appear to be stopping any time soon.

_Once this bloody economy picks up._

And then Vernon would go into a tirade about the government raising prices and levying more taxes, all the while his hands trembling more and more until he knocked the ears off the television. Then his aunt would flitter in after the resounding crash, soothing her husband while she fiddled with the antennae just so, her hands steadier than her husband or her son. Once the reception was perfect, she would tsk her way out, going back to whatever project had tickled her fancy.

Harry shook his head. At least they weren't making him do anything. No, they were downright ignoring him, letting him have free reign of the outdoors during the daytime. Of course, they locked him in his room at night, slipping a sandwich or some toast through the cat flap as his meal. If he wanted anything beyond scraps for dinner and leftovers for breakfast, he had to find it while wandering the surrounding neighborhoods. Surprisingly, he had taken to this challenge with writing for more books, sending Hedwig out to Flourish and Blotts.

Surprisingly the bookstore had a small section with some muggle books and connections on how to get more, if needed. After a small correspondence with Blotts himself, he received a few books on foraging for food in the non-magical community. There were enough edible weeds, bark and other flora around to keep him going through the day, though his first few times eating such tasteless drivel had him retching constantly. Getting through the hunger pains, helping them subside, was what had brought him to finally be able to stomach the scrounged meals. Literally.

He ignored them at the moment, though. They weren't that bad yet. Besides, it was too bloody hot out to be moving. Even the small movements of his body, as he tried to shift a pesky pebble out from under his hip, were nearly too much. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion from the heat.

Of course, it could be one-hundred and ten degrees outside and the Dursley's could care less. Harry himself could be dying of heat and dehydration but at least he wasn't soaking in their precious air-conditioning.

He pillowed his head in his hands, trying to keep his mind blank. The heat was bad enough, but he hadn't heard hide nor hair from his friends. No letters, no packages, not a whisper, even from Dumbledore. Harry was surprised that Blotts even talked to him, considering the rumor mill.

Harry, the Wizarding World's favorite go-to for gossip and slander, was in the papers again. After being deprived of information for so long over previous summers, Harry had been sure to subscribe to _The Daily Prophet_ this time. At least he was keeping track of what they were saying about him, even if none of it was good.

_Boy-Who-Lived, Murderer!_

_Harry Potter: Deranged Sociopath!_

_A New Dark Lord? Trouble in the Wizarding World.  
_

Harry could hardly believe what he had been reading the past few months. Wizards and witches were speculating that he was turning dark, going insane, or being controlled. It had leaked that Harry had had visions, directly influenced by Voldemort himself, throughout his fifth year. And once that lead to deaths of some very prestigious supporters of the light, they had begun questioning on whether or not he had done it on purpose. Among those dead: Shaklebolt, looking to be the new Minister of Magic after Fudge's blundering idiocy; Benjamin Bristleby, a foreigner who had come to Britain as a reporter, and became one of the most staunch of Dumbledore's supporters as well as one of the few who reported the truth, and not all this gossip-mongering that was taking over; and Sir-...Si-...his go-...

He pulled viciously at his mind. That death was being lauded, the end of the only convict to escape Azkaban.

In the meanwhile, hearing nothing from his friends, his allies, was putting him on edge. He wondered if it was because of the letter he had sent them just after school let out- about his sexual preference -or if they somehow were starting to believe that he willingly let Voldemort into his head, working with the insane dictator to end the lives of those the Light held dear. Even if they didn't know how dearly they had held the invisible work and support of the last.

The sun was closing to the horizon quickly now, the darkness flooding in, shadows lengthening to meet and embrace the night. He could hear the murmuring of the television set, hear the chairs creak as his uncle and cousin got up, presumably for dinner. If he was lucky and judged it just right, he could most likely sneak up to his room a little early tonight and strip off his filthy clothes. He wouldn't be able to shower the grime off, but he was getting very good at giving himself a sort of sponge-bath out of the water with his supper and scraps of material ripped from Dudley's overly-large hand-me-downs.

Spitting out the bitter blade of grass, Harry pulled himself up. He stretched, hearing the vertebrae in his back pop, and moved to head inside.

* * *

**A.N:** This WILL be HPDM. This WILL be Dark Harry. I am also going to keep my ending notes as short as possible, answering any questions that arise while also keeping my readers informed about my progress. If I still have some old readers. And if you're reading this, please choose the appropriate response:

Old readers: Holy shit, you remember me! That's...wow. Thanks for reading.

New readers: Welcome and thanks for reading. I always appreciate good critiquing and suggestions for my stories.

Until next time.


	2. Chapter 2: A Mid-Summer Dream (Prologue)

Sneaking in wasn't as hard as he had thought it might be. His relatives were loudly complaining about the current political state of the world in the dining room. All Harry had to do was slowly unlatch the door, open it just so before it creaked, latching it quickly but quietly, then up the staircase. He didn't generally take his shoes lately- he was able to sneak around easier and his feet were calloused enough that it no longer bothered him to walk on gravel or hot-tar without foot coverings. He avoided the middle of each stair as he climbed. Hovering on the edge gave him the best grip as well as avoided any loose floorboards. His aunt would have a fit if she knew he was walking in her precious house, tracking invisible footprints of dirt and who knew what else.

He heard a chair scrape and hastened to his room. The last thing he needed was to be caught and sent outside again. He was tired, and the air inside the house felt like a god-send to his heated flesh. He swiftly disappeared into his room as thunderous steps began to shake the staircase, a hiss and a click the only sign of his passing. He held his breath as he heard someone - probably Dudley - trundle past the door. Luckily, he didn't stop, and the resounding shivering through the house as his door slammed shut was welcome. Harry relaxed a bit.

Still treading softly, much like a ghost, he moved to flop on his bed. Harry winced as it squealed in protest. Now he had nothing more to do but sleep, study, or brood.

He didn't want to do the first. His dreams were making him uneasy- not because of the violence. Surprisingly there was little of that, as if Voldemort was waiting for something. But he kept getting this feeling like he was being weighed and measured for something, and coming from his connection to the evil Dark Lord himself, that probably wasn't a very good feeling to have.

No, he would rather not sleep.

His third option was to brood. He snorted. Like he didn't do enough of that already. His brooding generally came with the morning paper, as the new article sunk in. He had to admit that they did a wonderful job of weaving truth and lie, making it hard for even Harry himself to not believe the articles. It was masterfully done, whoever they had gotten to replace Rita Skeeter after her disappearance from the journalistic world. That still concerned Harry- she had been among the people to disappear shortly before summer arrived, along with such big names as Madames Deville and Devry, two of the world's leaders in developmental potions making; and Thomas McKeltar, a wandmaker from Scotland, rumored to be Ollivander's relative.

All this disappearances didn't make a whole lot of sense. Beyond possibly being neutral parties, they hadn't done anything to openly defy Voldemort, nor had they any skills that someone else wasn't better at, or more accessible to You-Know-Who. He already had Snape, the greasy git, on his payroll, who did his own research into potions. It was rumored that McKeltar wasn't nearly as good as his great-something-uncle Ollivander. While Thomas had been studying and producing wands for a good chunk of his forty-odd years, most Scots who attended Hogwarts still went to Diagon Alley, and thus got their wands from Ollivander.

Harry turned away from the subject. He was brooding again. He did enough of that already.

Which left studying. He had long since finished his assigned work, all of it longer and more detailed than necessary, even his potions homework. He literally had nothing else to do but forge ahead. However, Blotts had begun to send him some interesting texts on things that Hogwarts didn't teach, as well as advanced Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Potions, Herbology...Harry had even started to study Ancient Runes and Arithmacy, quickly catching up to fourth-year work out of boredom and partial interest. Some of his favorite books, however, were on subjects taught outside Hogwarts, if they were taught at all.

Wards, rituals, some healing, bonding, and concealment charms were among his favorite. Blotts had even sent along a few books he had called "not _illegal_, per se, but quite dark in their own right", stating that what better way to defend oneself than learn, at least in theory, the dark spells you were trying to defend against? Harry hadn't touched those ones yet.

He reached under his bed, the top half of his body suspended mid-air. He shifted selected the book he had been reading, _Pulling Down the Moon: A Guide to Time-Specific Rituals. _He flipped it open with a sigh. He enjoyed the study, yes, but for once he would like to receive a letter or something... Harry shook his head. He forced himself to read the text, quickly getting lost in the intricacies of rituals, the preparation of them so exact it was more of a science than magic._  
_

After a while, Harry raised his head. The darkness startled him. He must have been reading a lot longer than he'd thought, the light from the streetlamps illuminating his body. He rubbed his face and closed the book, calculations and diagrams swimming through his mind. He looked at the once-broken alarm clock he had fixed and was surprised once more. It was past three in the morning. A look over to his door showed a glass of water and a sandwich that had been slid in without notice. He wrinkled his nose, the white of the bread and filling telling the boy it was mayonnaise again. Just plain bread and mayo.

He pushed the book off the bed, jumping and wincing at the loud crak that resounded. Not the smartest thing to do. He waited patiently as his uncle snorted, yelled something muffled in his sleep, and started to snore peacefully once more. At least he hadn't woken up. Yet.

Harry turned over, forcing his breathing to steady and even out. Folding his arms under him, he settled in to get some rest. He sent up a quiet prayer asking for a deep, dreamless sleep.

**OoOoOoO**

Harry remembered this place. It was the hallway in Riddle Manor, where he had seen Peter Pettigrew's terrified form huddling before an incorporeal Voldemort. He looked around for the snake, Nagini. Nothing but dust and quiet lay before or behind him. There were no footsteps leading anywhere. Lifting his foot experimentally, Harry noticed he left no traces himself.

So, a dream, then.

Cursing softly, Harry willed himself to wake up. He strained and fought to no avail. He cracked open an eye, noticing a cracked door in front of him, the soft light of a fire warm and inviting. He didn't trust it, especially once a shadow shifted in front of it.

Harry looked around quickly for a way out, or at least a place to hide. The side table and vase looked as good a place as any. He dove behind it just as the door opened silently. In the light stood the Dark Lord himself.

Voldemort hadn't changed a bit, except perhaps to look a little less skeletal. His tall form was shrouded in finely cut wizard robes, the black contrasting his pasty, pallid color awfully. His nails desperately needed a trim beyond the sharp point they were filed to. He was bald, still, and had as much nose as he did hair. The most unsettling was his eyes, which were slit like a serpent's, glowing a soft gold in the darkness.

"Come now, Harry," he said in his quiet voice. It was neither raspy nor hoarse, as the Boy-Who-Lived expected, but held a quiet power to it. "No need to hide. I merely wish to speak with you."

The raven-haired youth gulped. Gathering his courage, he stood, looking directly at Voldemort. "I have nothing to say to you," he quipped shortly.

Voldemort stood back and gestured into the room. "I give you my oath I will not harm you, Harry." He waited, much more patiently than Harry had thought possible.

Magic settled around them. Harry knew about oaths, having read them in the books about bonding. It didn't seem as strong in this dream realm as it could be in the real world; but it was an oath, a bond, from Voldemort's magic to Harry's own. If he broke it now, the repercussions would be slow and painful on the Dark Lord's part. Harry shivered, not liking the idea of being tied to the man even more. Still...he didn't appear to be waking up soon. Knowing him, he could be staring down Voldy for quite a time before waking at Privet Drive.

This was probably stupid. He would probably be killed as soon as he walked into that room.

Harry stepped forward.

Cautiously, he walked until he was face to face with his nemesis. He saw just how taller the older man was- towering nearly half a foot over his meager five odd feet. He waited for Voldemort to move into the room, not trusting the oath enough to turn his back on the man. Voldy obliged by walking toward the fire, settling in a large, plush black chair. There was another, equally squishy looking, that lay a modest few feet away, facing You-Know-Who's chair.

Harry took a seat gingerly, waiting for a trap to spring. The cushion nearly swallowed him, enveloping the boy in comfort, but other than that, nothing.

Silence sprang between the pair. Harry shifted uncomfortably, noticing Voldemort studying him again. Getting irritated, he snapped, "Weren't you going to 'talk' to me?"

Voldemort smiled. "Of course." Harry looked slightly surprised as Voldemort didn't throw a fit at a show of defiance. "I have noticed that your friends and allies have left you alone." Harry opened his mouth to bite out a sarcastic retort, but the Dark Lord continued. "I have also noticed the rather appalling state those muggles keep you in. And I have been wondering- why do you still fight for them?"

Harry's mouth shut audibly. This wasn't something he expected from the evil of the wizarding world. He looked at him like he was insane. "Because they need me. Because you're my enemy. Because it's the right thing to do."

Voldemort leaned back, contemplative.

The pauses Voldemort gave between each answer showed Harry, somehow inexplicably, that the pale man was weighing and considering his words before saying anything. "Would you agree that it is right to fight for your beliefs?" Harry nodded, wondering where this was going. "And in a fight, people get hurt, perhaps even die." Harry nodded again and silence rained for a moment. Voldemort folded his hands. "So the right thing is sticking up for your beliefs, even fighting for them, even if people may get hurt." Harry shrugged in agreement, uncomfortable, knowing this would be twisted against him somehow.

Instead, Voldemort moved on. "And I am your enemy." Harry gave him a flat stare. "I can understand how you would see that. I killed your parents. I went after you for the Sorcerer's Stone, used your blood to come back from the wraith I was, perhaps you even believe that I had a hand in the death of your godfather." Harry's eyes hardened, but it didn't hurt as much as he thought. Probably because, unbelievably, Voldemort was being...civil. "I swear that none of it was personal, Harry. I have no wish to be your enemy. You are a mere boy."

Harry snorted. "Oh, that's rich. You've been hunting me my whole life and directly responsible for my entire upbringing, you're the reason I'm with my relatives, and it's _nothing personal?_" Great, he thought. He was started to drawl on like Malfoy.

"There are reasons behind my actions, Harry."

"You killed innocents!" the Boy-Who-Lived cried angrily. "I don't care what your reasons were, hundreds of wizards and muggles have died at your hands!"

Voldemort let the boy's tirade wear him out, watching the young man shake and tremble with fury. "You agreed earlier that it was right to stick up for what you believe in, even if people get hurt. You will let your Headmaster keep secrets from you, hide things imperative to your survival and living your own life, let him explain himself after, and not afford me the same courtesy?"

"Dumbledore doesn't have the blood of innocents on his hands."

"Ah." Voldemort leaned back. "Let me ask you this- have I killed any children? Not tried," he mentioned with a small smile, his gaze flickering up to Harry's lightening scar, "but actively killed? Have I harmed a single student outside of Hogwarts? Yes, I have killed. They were all adults, in full knowledge of fighting a war. But I assure you, check any raid, and all the children were left alone. Anyone below their majority, who does not raise a hand against me, lives to go on their way. Perhaps not the wisest maneuver according to my followers, but something I stand by."

Harry crossed his arms, back stiff, remaining standing. "I don't believe you."

Voldemort chuckled, an odd sound. There was very little malice, not pitying or condescending like Harry was used to; it held genuine mirth and something else Harry couldn't identify. "I can send you proof if you wish."

Rolling his eyes, Harry snorted again. "Right, like that's going to happen." He felt himself slowly waking up, and added sarcastically, "How about sending some decent food as well? I enjoy some nice kippers and eggs for breakfast."

As Harry began to fade back to reality, Voldemort raised an eyebrow but said, "I give you my word, Mr. Potter. Until we are able to talk again."

Like I'm going to let that happen, Harry thought as he felt himself drift into darkness. Not a chance in hell.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't always expect such frequent updates. The muses are tackling my brain and I am unemployed at the moment, so I have a lot of free time and a lot of ideas.

I am not the best at philosophy- if you have any ideas to have Voldemort bring up, let me know and please, I would love help improving my arguments.

Please find the appropriate thanks below:

_Reviewers_: Yes, I had planned on making Draco bottom. Actually, I'll probably go a little farther and make him submissive. I look forward to hearing from you all again as well.

_Story Favoriters:_ I hope I can live up to your expectations. Many thanks for your favorites.

_Story Followers: _As well, I hope I live up to your expectations. Thank you for reading.

_All readers: _It boost my confidence in my writing skills to have so many people even glance at my story. Thank you thank you thank you.

Right then. See you next time.


	3. Chapter 3: A Series of Shocks (Prologue)

Well, I'll be damned, Harry thought the next afternoon. The bastard followed through.

The next morning had seen his usual copy of the Daily Prophet, as well as something extra. A steaming hot package of food for breakfast. Harry had checked it for three whole hours searching for charms, potions, curses, or anything that would harm him in the food. The entire time his mouth was watering, for not only had Voldemort sent kippers and eggs (sunny-side up, no less), but toast with marmalade, sausage links and thick bacon strips, fluffy Belgian waffles with maple syrup - real maple syrup - in a separate jar to keep the waffles crisp. And sent to drink, not only orange juice, but pumpkin juice and a variety of teas.

Also sent with was a swathe of articles from every paper in wizarding Britain, from the first Wizarding War to the most recent paper.

Settling in to the first good meal since leaving Hogwarts, he poured over the articles. There wasn't enough blood to make him lose his lunch, but were disturbing in and of themselves.

But not once, in any report of the death eater raids, were there deaths of children. Oh, there were plenty of death eaters themselves that killed children and non-combatants early on, and there were even an occasional casualty according to a spell going awry or the intended recipient dodged out of the way. But after each article that mentioned the conscious death of kids or bystanders, an article came up with the death eater in question killed in a most gruesome way.

And about the time that he finished the pile of articles, it was getting on in the afternoon. Oddly, his relatives left him in the confines of his room. He wondered why, then shrugged it off. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, after all. A tap at the window had him looking over his shoulder, to see another owl there with a package. He got up questioningly, moving over to let the bird in. He scratched its neck feathers gently while he took the mail, watching it fly off curiously. It was a nondescript postage owl. Nothing unusual.

Opening the package revealed another meal, this one not as warm as the first. However, that was welcome with the heat. He even had a bottle of Tandy's Lemonade to accompany it, a special wizarding drink that combined the sweet and sour taste of lemons with miniature explosions crackling in his mouth once he drank some. Not enough to hurt, but it was very cool nonetheless. He didn't assume it was clean, but after checking it with the same extensive list of spells, he was able to sit down and enjoy the meal.

How odd, to be receiving food from his hated enemy. And it wasn't poisoned or corrupted. How peculiar indeed.

* * *

Each night he ended up in Riddle Manor, the door open and inviting, but nothing forced him to accept that invitation. He hadn't gone in there since their first chat. After that initial day, Harry received three meals at equal intervals, plus snacks and desserts to squirrel away if he wished. His relatives kicked him out the following morning while the sun was shining down, but the owl found him each day, no matter where he was. A few times the birds even delivered books of interest to him, supplies to practice potions at night, charms and talismans to cool him down and prevent sunburn, no matter how long he remained outdoors.

It had hurt, knowing that his relatives, friends, teachers should have been doing this- sending him care packages (even if he had to cast a gamut of spells to be sure he wasn't going to be offed), making sure that he wouldn't get heat stroke, looking after his well-being.

It was daunting and depressing. Especially once his birthday rolled around.

The morning dawned hotter than the day before, not that that was a surprise. His luck kicked in, though, as the Dursley's were heading to London for the day. Hopefully they wouldn't be back until late, and while they would turn the air conditioning off, it was cool enough with the insulation of the house. For once, Harry would be comfortable and well-fed during the daylight hours.

Once he was alone, Harry settled in to breakfast. Each day brought a new variety of flavors- quiche and crepes from France, French Toast and muffin breakfast sandwiches from America, fried fish and Rice from Asia among his favorites for breakfast. He even got to try various different alcohols from around the world, though he was careful about ingesting them with food and in small quantities. He didn't want to get drunk.

For his birthday breakfast, he was sent a quiche made with asparagus, a sweet white wine called Moscato that bubbled in his mouth, fresh pomegranate seeds and apples fresh from the orchid, three kinds of cheese and a fresh baguette still piping hot. Along with it came a wrapped gift.

Harry was able to cast his detection spells within fifteen minutes from all his practice. Then he set to casting detection and revealing charms on the package while enjoying his breakfast. An hour later had him still sipping the wine, which went down like a sweet bubbling water, and examining the still wrapped present. To say that Harry had no idea of what to make of this development was an understatement. He finally just decided to get it over with and unwrapped the gift.

The book revealed was a language book. However, it wasn't just any language- it was not quite a dictionary, not quite a workbook on the different forms of parseltongue that included dragon and wyvern dialects.

Harry was flabbergasted.

A few hours later, he was shocked once more. With his lunch came a second gift. The same spells and a half hour later, and he was looking at a serpent necklace while munching on some spiced curry from India. The plum wine was delicious and complimented the hot flavor of the curry. But the necklace was throwing him for a loop. It was handcrafted from platinum and gold filigree, the details picked out painfully. Each scale was carved delicately, with a few of them made from the shell of a Chinese fireball dragon adding a red-orange color to it, and the tongue looked fragile enough to break off with the merest touch. The eyes themselves were perfectly carved garnets, following his every move in the sunlight, an inner fire glowing. The necklace itself was charmed against physical injury, burns, and spelled to adjust the body of the wearer to be able to comfortably survive in nearly any temperature.

The final shock came with his dinner. Coq-au-vin with marinated red potatoes, raspberry liqueur, steamed and salted vegetables and a delicious vanilla cheesecake with Irish cream for dessert; and a third gift. This one resided in an envelope. A third sweep of food and gift left him dazzled, for the envelope contained a small, simple note: _Your final gift is located at Gringotts, vault 1032. _A key was stuck to it, with muggle double-sided tape of all things. Harry wouldn't be able to get it for another two weeks, but his curiosity was eating at him.

It was that night, confused beyond belief, that he willingly went to sleep and sought out Riddle Manor.

* * *

"Harry. How nice of you to join me."

Harry took a cautious seat at the chair by the fireplace. It was a blood red color that contrasted the emerald chair that Voldemort sat in. The Boy-Who-Lived noticed the Dark Lord's eyes flicker to his neck, where the serpent pendant lay, before meeting his face again. He didn't say anything for a while, studying the man in front of him, still distrusting, still confused. "Why?"

"Why what, Harry?" Voldemort folded his hands in front of him, a small smirk on his lips.

"Why the gifts, the meals...? Why?"

"You asked, and I believe it is custom to give gifts for ones birthday." Voldemort stated simply. "I am not your enemy."

The pair dropped into silence for some time, Harry with his thoughts, Voldemort leaving the boy - young man, at this point - to his musings, not pressing for a response to his statement.

To say Harry's world was turning upside down was an understatement yet again. He had heard hide nor hair from those he cared about, and here was his supposed nemesis that was caring for him and giving him gifts. None of them had been poisoned or cursed. Not once had You-Know-Who pressured him into anything.

And he had told the truth while also keeping his word. That was more than Harry could say about Dumbledore at times.

Taking a breath, Harry settled forward, folding his hands in front of him. "So. What did you want to talk about?"

* * *

**A/N: **So I know this is a somewhat shorter chapter, but that's because it was a fantastic place to stop. Please find your thanks below:

_Reviewers:_ Thank you for your words and critiquing.

_Story Followers: _Another chapter for you all. Thank you for reading.

_Story Favoriters: _I am always honored to have my story favorited. Thank you.

_Readers all:_ Thank you for reading. If I didn't know people were interested in this concept, I would never be writing it as much as I have been.

NOTE: Obligatory disclaimer on how I don't own Harry Potter one bit. I own some concepts that will be seen in here, but even the main ideas have heavy influences from stories I read here on . If you like my story, give their stories a shot:

_Stigmata_ by InferiorBeing  
_Faith _by Dragongirl16

Thank you both of you for your amazing stories that influenced heavily my ways of looking at the Harry Potter world. You are amazing.


	4. Chapter 4: A Choice (Prologue)

Oddly enough, Voldemort just wanted to talk with Harry. Each night they talked, steering clear of topics that would make either of them nervous. It was rather soothing, actually, for both of them. Harry was given company and help with studying both the parseltongue book as well as the more advanced spells he was looking into, and Voldemort, after some prodding from Harry, had someone to converse with that wasn't afraid of him. Harry would never have pegged Voldemort for being so...human.

Mid-August Harry was given two very different surprises, one good and the other bad.

A letter arrived with the morning post and his breakfast. The note told him that, due to the fact that the wizarding world was still howling for his blood, he would be staying safely in the muggle realm with his relatives, signed Headmaster Ablus Dumbledore.

The good surprise was when he went to Diagon Alley. That morning, he had a rather extensive disguise kit sent to him. It included potions, spells, charms, various enchanted pieces of jewelry, as well as a surprising amount of muggle makeup. The instructions that came with it told him to altar his face as much as possible with muggle makeup and prosthetic pieces, then add on the charms and magical paraphernalia.

Harry had a wonderful time experimenting with warts. noses, scars, lips, even a few contacts for him that were in different colors. He didn't know where Voldemort got his prescription from, but he was very grateful. A few hours of playing with his face and body, he settled on a large beak of a nose that reminded him of Snape, a piece of latex to cover his famous scar, stained his skin a few shades darker and gave himself mud-brown eyes. He also put on a chestnut blonde wig that reached his back, pulling it into a loose ponytail. His experimentation with himself worked well enough that he merely needed to add two charms to his entourage- one to scramble his scent and another to change his voice a few octaves lower.

He was shocked to find, in the bottom of the chest (which contained a lot more space inside than the outside of the chest implied) well-tailored wizarding robes in his size as well as larger, shoes of different heel sizes to give the illusion of him being taller, lord canes from different obscure houses- according to the note - and rings to match the canes. Harry picked out black cut robes, some platformed shoes to give him another two inches of height, and a cane and ring that, surprisingly, matched the necklace that had been given on his birthday.

He took the enclosed portkey to the Leaky Cauldron, showing up in one of the private rooms. Upon exiting, unfortunately, he saw why Dumbledore had made the decision he had. There were posters everywhere calling him the next dark lord. People had miniature dolls they were selling that customers could rip apart, curse, do whatever they wished. They even had places to put his hair or nail cuttings, anything physical of his, to carry the curse, much like a voodoo doll.

Disturbed, Harry kept his head down and walked quickly to the bank.

After a rather gut-wrenching trip to what Harry assumed was the bottom of Gringott's, he was able to open the vault. Handing his key to them had brought a few glances from the goblins, but that didn't stop them from taking him to the carts. And, once he opened the door, Harry understood why.

That night, he waltzed into the room at Riddle Manor, angry as all hell but not at Voldemort himself.

"Dragon eggs!?" he said, incredulous, as Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow. "You gave me dragon eggs?" He flopped down, noting now how the other two gifts tied in with his newest acquisitions.

"I thought you would like them. Just be careful- if I timed it correctly, they should hatch within the week."

Harry silently fumed, wondering what he was going to tell his relatives, wondering how he was going to raise seven dragons in the muggle world, wondering if he ought to leave and never come back. "I have to have constant warming charms on them because I don't have access to a fire."

Voldemort nodded, then narrowed his eyes. "You are angry."

Harry snapped his mouth shut, taking deep breaths, trying his best to school his features to show nothing. When he was calm again, he opened eyes that had closed at some point. He looked back at the quiet man across from him. "I won't be attending school this year."

"You must be joking, surely." Harry's face told Voldemort the truth. "You're not joking." He sat back heavily. "This is most troubling." Harry said nothing, but started when Voldemort continued. "I am truly, deeply sorry, my young man. Would I could help you and you would take it, I would."

Harry snorted. "You've helped me more than anyone else that has." They dropped in companionable silence, before Harry asked a question that had been eating at him. "Why do you do the things you do? Kill, hurt, destroy. What is it all for?"

Harry nearly thought You-Know-Who wouldn't answer.

"Tell me, Harry. Do you agree that the world will be encased in war and blood until either myself or the ministry, and consequently, Dumbledore, prevails?" Harry nodded. "It is human nature to have rulers and followers. Only an ignorant person would say that there is no such thing as a ruling class. The ministry is made up of rulers, the wizarding world follows; wizarding family patrons are the rulers, their children the followers. The only way to truly bring peace and change is to have one ruler, and that is what I intend to have- peace, and change."

Harry furrowed his brow. "But people aren't meant to be ruled, not really. I mean, we have free will for a reason, the Imperious curse is illegal for a reason. Besides, freewill breed the best creativity and improvements in the end."

"Is freedom worth all of the death, in the end?" Harry opened his mouth but Voldemort held up a hand. "Now, take a parent raising children. Here we have a ruler and followers. The parent has more power than the children, in this case, experience as power. Now, you may think that people are happy when they are free. But is a child happy when they burn themselves in the fire? The parent has the ability and experience to stop them, but didn't, because that would be stepping on the freewill of the child."

"That's different-"

"How is it different? The only way people are ever truly safe is if they are guided and watched over by those with more experience. They may not like it, but in some ways, servitude is what they need. In the case of parents and children, if left to their own freedom, the children will destroy themselves long before they reach adulthood." He paused, noting the pensive look on Harry's face. "As the adult, it is the parent's job to take responsibility of their child's well-being."

Harry shook his head. "The people we are talking about aren't children, though. They're adults, who should be able to make their own decisions. They don't need a ruler, a king, or a Master." A slight edge of bitterness crept into his voice as he looked at the self-proclaimed Dark Lord.

"Everyone needs a Master, even you and I do, whether that Master is another person, or drugs, or sex, or money, or even debt. If a person truly cares, they be sure to find a Master for the people that is kind or healthy for them. If a person truly cares, the it would be completely irresponsible to allow someone else to rule the people. Wouldn't you rather be a benevolent ruler in the end, even if now is a nightmarish hell, than allow a tyrant to take over and keep this never-ending war going?"

Harry bit his lip, then stood suddenly. "I have to go," he said quickly, his anger long forgotten.

Voldemort nodded. "You are welcome back any time, young man."

Harry sat up in bed moments later, his head spinning. He decided he had a lot to think about, and settled back to give his life - and himself - a long, hard look.

* * *

The next night saw them both facing one another, once again in the warm chairs by the fireplace, nothing but the fire crackling between them. It was Harry that eventually broke the silence.

"You're right. This war is senseless, the wizarding world is messed up, and I've done everything for them but asked for nothing. I'm tired of it, I'm tired of war, and I don't know what to do. But," he said, plowing on, "I don't agree with a lot of what you are doing, either. Which leaves me at an impasse, unless you have a suggestion."

Voldemort didn't smile, merely began to speak quietly. "Every person needs a right-hand man, a yin to yang, light to darkness. My followers are terrified of me. A right-hand man can't be afraid. Allow me to teach you, train you, to be that person. I will be willing to listen to you, to incorporate some of your ideas, to make some adjustments, without sacrificing my own ideals. In return, you will be considered my equal, and on that, I would give you my oath in exchange for an equivalent from you."

Silence reigned.

Harry had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that Dumbledore and Fudge were so far from Voldemort, they did much the same things as one another. How many people had died at the hands of any of them? While Voldemort had proven he hadn't gone after children, how many times had Fudge tried to go after the Slytherin children, just for being offspring of alleged Death Eaters? Had Dumbledore, in all his history that was hidden and never mentioned, ever had a child die, directly or indirectly? Did it matter, when he did whatever he wanted with Harry, including keeping secrets from him?

Not to mention the fact that all of Wizarding Britain, his friend apparently included, were calling for his blood. If anyone with one of those dolls got a hold of his skin, hair, blood, would they hesitate in using them to cause him pain? He was barely sixteen and they already thought him the next bane of the wizarding world.

But should he play right into what they expected? He couldn't bring himself to torture, he was fairly sure. And he wanted the world to be a better place. One where children weren't persecuted for being from a certain family, or a certain house, or even a certain blood type. A place where they didn't have to worry about muggles finding them, because they had no renegades or - even better - the muggle and wizarding world were brought together to live in harmony?

And wasn't it his responsibility, as someone who loved the wizarding world with all his being, with all of its wonder and magic giving hope to a child from a bad family, to help the world find peace and love for one another?

He looked up to Voldemort. "Teach me."

* * *

End of When Darkness Falls: Prologue

* * *

**A/N:** I'm trying to average 2k words/chapter, though I hope to have more...those may take a while to get up though.

The next chapter will have a time skip, so you will have to bear with me with all of the personality changes and stuff going on. It will all make sense in the end, I promise. Please find your thanks below:

_Reviewers: _Please keep the critiquing and ideas coming. They will greatly help my story improve- for example, what do you want to see in terms of the dragon eggs? Any other pets? What kind of followers do you think he should cultivate- human, like Voldemort, or magical, and if magical, what kind? Thank you for your answers, if you'd like to send them.

_Story Followers: _I'm glad you like the story enough to follow it- I hope I live up to your expectations. Thank you so much for following this.

_Story Favoriters: _I'll keep the updates coming. Thank you for giving me confidence to keep writing.

_All readers: _Thank you, thank you, thank you. I live off of your energy and enjoyment of my story- I am immensely grateful.

See you all tomorrow most likely, if not sooner.


	5. Part One: Chapter 1

The wizarding world was in an uproar. Over the past six months things had been quiet- little Death Eater activity, no signs of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It made everyone uneasy. Why wasn't You-Know-Who attacking? What was he waiting for? Was he really back?

The disappearance of Harry Potter merely confirmed many suspicions of him joining the Dark Lord. After all, there were no signs of struggle, and the muggles he had been staying with had been left behind. It was only natural to think that Harry had become the junior Dark Lord.

Hermione and Ron, in between the stress of classes, worried about what happened to their friend. Ron's family had forbade him to write to the boy, stating after some time that he could be deranged or not even know he was going mad. Not that it _was_ happening, but that it _could_ happen. Both teens thought the Weasley's mental, but as Hermione was staying with them for the summer, and Ron was their son, neither argued. It didn't sit well with them, though.

Once they found out he had disappeared, they at first thought he was going to contact them, let them know he was going after You-Know-Who. When he didn't after a few weeks, they started to worry that something had happened.

Now they sat in the common room, alone, early morning, neither talking. The fire had long since died to smoldering embers, taking with it the lights. The school had been incredibly subdued, especially considering most of Slytherin and quite a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Surprisingly there were even a few Gryffindors missing, though neither Hermione nor Ron knew them very well.

Hermione lay her head on Ron's shoulder. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were dark, her skin was becoming gaunt and drawn. Ron knew he looked no better. The war was wearing on them, and this waiting was almost worse than the fighting and death.

A sound behind them had them both spinning in their seats, their reflexes drawing their wands at the same time, curses at the tips of their tongues. Hermione was the first to move, her wand slipping from her fingers, a gurgled sound in the back of her throat.

The sight of Harry made Ron feel much the same way.

"Harry James Potter, where have you been!?" Hermione threw her arms around her friend, Ron coming up quickly to join them in a group hug.

"I've...been busy."

Hermione pulled back and really looked at her friend. His eyes were guarded, his features schooled to a pleasant nothing, and he looked harder than he used to. Like there was a loss of innocence. Hermione backed up from Harry, quieting down, as Ron slapped him on the back.

Harry cleared his throat. "You guys look like hell," he said awkwardly.

"So do you." Ron took up the thread of conversation while Hermione observed. Something was...off, but she couldn't place it. "Seriously, though, where have you been? We've been going mad all summer. My mum wouldn't let us send you letters, and then we heard that Dumbledore said you couldn't go to school, and then there were the riots... The world is falling apart without you."

The boy who lived sighed heavily, taking a seat. He watched his friends jump, watching the gears in their heads turn as they realized they weren't in the common room, exactly. "You guys can have a seat. I don't know how much time you'll let me explain, but...I'd like to try."

It finally hit Hermione. The cut of his robes, the pendant glowing at his neck, the way he held himself... "The rumors are true," she whispered, shocked. "Aren't they?"

Ron looked between them. "What do you mean, Hermione, the rumors are true. This is Harry. He's a bit wacked sometimes, sure, but this is _Harry_."

Hermione kept her gaze on her friend. Old friend? Was he still a friend? Ron finally picked up on the atmosphere and looked back at Harry. "Harry man, come on, what's going on? I mean, you're just biding your time before the big fight between You-Know-Who, right?"

Harry kept his posture straight, hands folded in his lap, and met their gaze squarely. "Some of the rumors are true, yeah." He kept rolling, trying to keep himself from rambling, not giving them a chance to speak yet. "You don't understand, though. I'm not- well, _serving_ him. I'm considered an equal. And he lets me do what I want, and has been curbing himself to be able to teach me. And it's not that bad- some of what he says makes sense, though I don't agree with all of it, and he's at least more honest than just about everyone else in my life and I know I'm rambling but you have to understand, there's more to this than just the rumors that I've joined Voldemort and am following him blindly, you know?"

Ron snapped his jaw shut, Hermione quickly following suit. "Harry, bloke, are you even listening to what you're saying? This is You-Know-Who we're talking about! You know, the man who killed your parents, made your life a living hell, killed Cedric Diggory, directly responsible for the death of Sirius?"

Harry clamped a lid on his temper. "It's not like that, Ron. He didn't kill Sirius." The Boy-Who-Lived swallowed a lump in his throat but couldn't keep some bitterness from creeping into his voice. "No, that belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, who I have been assured to be able to do whatever I please with once her usefulness has ended." He loosened one of his hands, which had become a fist without him realizing it.

"Are you listening to yourself, mate!? You've gone mental! This is, I can't believe you're saying this. Has You-Know-Who warped your mind?" Ron's face was turning purple, veins popping on his forehead.

Harry took a deep breath and counted to ten, then repeated the motion before he felt calm enough to break the redhead's tirade. "Get out," he ground through his teeth.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Why, so you can go crying back to your new Master? 'Oh, my dead Dark Lord, my ickle friends yelled at me for being a complete tosser! Oh, please give me a cute little boy to completely ruin and fuck into-"

Harry stood, his anger giving him power, throwing his hand out. This was _his_ realm, and he would not be spoken to or insulted like that. "Out!" he shouted, pushing all his force into throwing Ron awake in the Gryffindor common room.

Once the redhead was gone, Harry tried to calm his fuming, taking deep and calming breaths to gain control again. Losing his temper like that wasn't good, especially since any magic cast during that time was given too much power and overdone. Good for life-or-death situations, bad when you still needed to power a ritual where your body was.

Opening his eyes, he noticed Hermione still standing there. He leashed in his anger, looking at her, meeting her gaze.

On the spotlight, the muggle-born witch shifted. She worried her lip for a moment before opening her mouth to speak. Hesitated, then finally said, "What changed your mind, Harry? When we talked to you at the end of last year, you hated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What happened?"

Harry spun around, talking without looking at his friend - old friend - to keep himself in check. "Do you know what it was like for me over the summer? At the Dursleys?" He didn't wait for her answer. "I was lucky to have anything beyond bread and some sort of condiment twice a day for food. I was shoved outside no matter how warm it was. I was ignored and had no one to talk to." His throat closed on him. He cleared it and continued. "Voldemort- I didn't believe him at first. But he gave me his word he wouldn't hurt me. And when I sarcastically told him to send food as a sign of good will...he did. It wasn't cursed or poisoned. He sent me three meals a day from July until I got out of there. He talked with me, helped me learn new spells. Not dark ones, necessarily, but light spells, transfiguration, healing potions, things that you wouldn't realize he knew and would share knowledge about."

The teen turned around to face Hermione, absently taking in her stunned face and pale features. "He gave me gifts on my birthday. He explained his thoughts, his history, shared ideas with me to keep me occupied and entertained. And then I let him explain to me what he wanted- and it made sense. It was something we all wanted; but where Dumbledore and Fudge would pretend and show different sides and hide secrets, Voldemort was honest. He didn't expect me to agree with him wholeheartedly, and actually encouraged me to disagree and speak my mind. When has Dumbledore done that? The Headmaster sent me back to a home of neglect and abuse, without batting an eye, and didn't even check up on me. Voldemort did. Wouldn't you give him a chance, at least to get to know him, if not let him talk to you and share his own beliefs?" Harry let his hands fall to his side, his eyes pleading with his friend.

Hermione looked down, continuing to worry her lip. In a twisted way, it made sense. She took a breath and finally met his eyes again. "Look, I'm not saying I'm going to believe you...but I'm your friend. I at least owe it to you to hear you out." She frowned and a chair appeared behind her. "A dream realm?" At Harry's nod she made a note to read up on them in the restricted section, perhaps butter up Madame Pince somehow. "So, I won't guarantee that I'll like what you say or that I'll necessarily stay friends with you after a while, but go ahead. Try to explain it to me."

Harry sat down heavily. "Thank you Hermione. It means a lot, and if we part ways...I'll be sad, but you'll always be my friend."

And he began to explain.

* * *

Blinking blearily, Harry waited for his eyes to adjust in the candlelight. His back was killing him. The nasty part about some rituals was that the intricacies of the drawings. The one he currently lay on was carved into the cement of the Riddle Manor, the edges rough and un-sanded. The floor was cold and harsh. It played havoc with a back that was now used to sleeping on a plush mattress made of Fwooper feathers and acromantula silk. Once his orientation was back, he slowly sat up, and winced as he heard a tell-tale roar that shook the mansion.

Harry stood, groaning slightly as his vertebrae slipped back into place. The roar came again, accompanied by a tinkling, sing-song roar this time. Rolling his eyes, Harry began to walk, lifting a piece of the floor to break the circle. He jogged up the staircase from the basement, taking the steps two or three at a time. He nearly collided with Voldemort this way, though managed to skid to a stop before knocking the older man down.

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't comment. "How did it go?" he asked instead, moving to walk alongside his protege.

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed again. "I don't know. Hermione may give me a chance, but Ron...I threw him out."

"I see." They approached the main floor of the mansion, the splendor of Riddle Manor spread out before them. The deep wooden grains, worn with traffic, blended with the bronze and blues that made up most of the color scheme. All of the furniture was from previous generations, most of them dating back to Victorian England or before. Both wizards found the house soothing in times of stress, though the constant miniature earthquakes certainly weren't helping. "I have some things to discuss with you when you are done seeing to your children."

"Alright." A particularly loud, ear-shattering roar accompanied a rumble that nearly pitched Harry off of his feet. He quickened his pace- his kids were hungry.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy Samhain all. I'm trying to get the next chapter out as soon as I can. Please find your thanks below:

_Reviewers: _So many ideas and suggestions! Thank you for answering my questions- I'll put them to thought. If this is your first time reading and you would like to answer, they are found in the previous chapter. A special shout-out to Emeralden Rapley for your long, informative review. And if I develop too fast for your believability, Emeralden, let me know.

_Story Followers: _Thank you for following my story. I hope to continue to inspire and entertain you.

_Story Favoriters: _It means so much that you like my story enough to favorite me. Thank you so much.

_All readers: _Thank you thank you thank you. I don't know how much I can say this until my gratitude is properly conveyed.

Next chapter, Harry's children show up. I think you all know who they are...any idea on breeds? Anyone? Any ideas for names (if I receive them in time)?


End file.
